By Cindy Justice
I have often been asked, “Why do you spend so much time at the range?” or “Why do you feel the need to carry a gun around with you?” or “Wouldn’t it be easier to just avoid bad situations?”
Most of the people I deal with on a daily basis - friends, family, and co-workers - all live relatively conservative lifestyles. They live in the nicer areas of the city. They shop and eat out in areas where they feel safe. Common sense has us all following the same principals.
We do our shopping while it is still daylight, often bringing a friend along and we try to avoid areas that are prone to violence. Is this enough? I had thought so. Besides, I have a big strong husband who is more than able to protect me.
Having my own handgun never crossed my mind, not even after moving to the city of Houston, Texas. I did watch the news and was aware that there are bad people out there. But, I considered myself to be a very aware person. I made it a point of being careful when out by myself. No talking to strangers and such.
After all, it seemed that those victims depicted in the news tended to put themselves in bad situations by being out late or alone at a night club. It would never happen to me, as I am very careful.
Like the birth of a child, one remembers the dates of important events which change our lives. An event in my life took me down a different path on January 8th, 2008. I would like to share my experience with you.
We had noticed our neighborhood deteriorating and had upped our guard. It seemed that the inner city crime was slowly oozing down our streets over the past couple years. I was very aware of the group of young men mulling around the front door. This corner had become a new hangout for the ‘drop-out’ crowd.
Yet, I still felt relatively safe as it was the middle of the afternoon and I was only a couple blocks from the safety of my home. I followed my normal guidelines by giving the young men a wide berth, watching their actions closely, and avoiding direct eye contact. They continued their conversations and let me through to the door without incident. My radar was peaked, however I still felt safe.
After work, I often stop in at that little corner store to pick up a few miscellaneous groceries. The family who runs the store is loved by the community. They take the time to get to know their customers, asking friendly questions about our families.
This afternoon seemed the same as any other. I walked by the counter prepared to chit-chat for a few minutes - asking about their son in the third grade, discussing the crazy gas prices, and telling them of our plans for the weekend.
Today was different. Every week they order one loaf of Oroweat Health Nut bread just for me. One loaf of wheat bread sitting on the shelf with all the fluffy white bread. Today they seemed edgy and the wife said, “No more bread. You go home now.” I was confused. Was the owner of the little corner store speaking to me? She looked directly at me, pointed to the door and said again, “You go home now!”
I leaned in a little closer to the lady and asked if she was OK. She looked so tired, so scared. The hoodlum element that had crept into the area was wearing her down.
She sounded so sad when she quietly replied, “No more bread here. Just go, please.”
As I turned to leave the store, the door was flung open by an angry young man. He was screaming and cursing at another customer in the store. Natural survival mode kicked in and I quickly moved to the back corner, ducking behind the shelves of canned goods. The owner, his wife, and I all crouched in fear.
She had warned me, practically pushing me out of the store. Now I was trapped. We were all trapped.
The two scroungy young men were arguing over what appeared to be a drug deal. Apparently the customer wasn’t happy with his purchase. As the drug dealer reached into his pocket I could feel my heart pounding and was certain they could hear it over their cursing. My mind raced as I tried to sort it all out… Was he reaching for a gun? Would he try to kill any witnesses? Could we protect ourselves?
I wish I could convey the helpless feeling, while crouched in the back of the store. If this man decided to kill us all, we would have been armed with nothing more than bottles of juice and milk.
The punk who came into the store was upset over his purchase. He was mad at the other punk, the one who was already in the store up at the counter. He cursed and then yelled, “I paid you for three and you only gave me two.” As it turned out, the punk who was at the counter pulled out a little plastic bag of ‘something’ and not a gun. The two continued to curse at each other, and then they both left the store.
Here it was 4:00 in the afternoon, in a fairly safe area of the city, just two blocks from my home… And I realized that I was not as safe as I had presumed. With drug dealers and their customers who are so bold as to do their business right in front of the general public, it was not far-fetched at all for me to think that it was going to be a gun coming out of the dealer’s pocket instead of a bag of whatever his “product” was.
I vowed that never again would I allow myself to be so vulnerable. Everyone with even the tiniest bit of common sense knows that criminals carry guns no matter what the laws are. And it doesn’t take much of a leap of thought to know that having my own gun to defend myself is a very good idea. I knew that if I wanted to live without the constant nagging fear of becoming a victim, I had two choices: I could stay locked in my home until my husband came home or I could learn to better protect myself. I chose to become more self sufficient in my personal protection.
With my husband’s encouragement, I purchased my first handgun, a .40 caliber S&W. It was a bit intimidating to shoot at first. For some reason, I was worried that it might jam and explode in my face. My husband was very patient while teaching me that my handgun was not my foe.
I was able to relax a bit more with each pull of the trigger. But it was not until I learned to break my handgun down, clean it, and put it back together that I felt in complete control. After months of shooting at the range, I took the course and obtained my Concealed Handgun License. I’ve switched to carrying a Glock 26 for concealment purposes. It has become a part of my daily wardrobe and I feel uncomfortable when it is not in the holster.
I am not a paranoid person nor am I ‘looking’ for a reason to pull the trigger. What my handgun has given me is a sense of control over possible situations. I know without a doubt that I can draw quickly and hit my mark; practice has made it automatic.
While no one wants to be placed in a situation where they would need to shoot another person, we also do not want the police to be forced to explain to our loved ones that we were gunned down while hiding in the back of the corner store.
Cindy Justice is a freelance writer who lives in Houston, Texas with her husband, oldest son and two dogs.
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